Embrace the Wolf

by Benjamin M. Schutz

  I caught up with her at the car. “Look, I’m sorry. What can I say?”

  “Nothing. It’s okay. I’m just moody. Any little thing can throw me off. When you snapped at me, I just felt all alone again and you were just another man. I’m okay now. What are we going to do?”

  I liked the we in that sentence. “Let’s go talk to Saunders.”

  We went back across the parking lot, then up the stairs to Saunders’ room. The door was open. He was on the phone with the look of someone on a long hold. On the dresser were two photographs and a homemade Father’s Day card. Wendy stepped across the threshold, but stood close by the door. I moved further into the room and stood facing Saunders.

  Someone was finally talking to him. He nodded a couple of times and said, “That’s okay. Thank you, I’ll call back in a while.” He cradled the receiver and looked up at me. “She’s still under sedation. I’ll have to try again.”

  He got up off the bed and brushed past me to the dresser. He picked up one picture, then the other, and finally he turned back to me. “You’re pushing your luck, Haggerty.”

  “That’s what I get paid for. Look—”

  “Look nothing. In the old days they killed messengers like you. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.” He balled his fists.

  I put my palms up. “All right. I’m leaving. Call your wife. She needs you.”

  I backed out of the room as Saunders advanced. When I’d passed through the doorway, Wendy moved to follow me. Before she did, she stopped and turned back to Saunders. “I’m really sorry about your daughters, Mr. Saunders. I can just imagine what you’ve been through.”

  Saunders came to a halt. He asked her, “Do your parents know where you are?” The question was utterly devoid of innuendo.

  “Yes, they do.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad. We should always know where our loved ones are.” Saunders stopped for a moment and looked closely at Wendy’s face, searching for a clue, a reason why she was here and his girls weren’t.

  “How old are you, child?”

  “Twenty.”

  “My girls would be twelve.” Saunders’ gaze wandered off into memory for a moment then returned to Wendy’s face. “You look like a nice person. I’m sure your father loves you very much.”

  Saunders’ eyes glistened, and he took a tottering step toward Wendy. She stiffened and leaned away from him. Her fear and his need were swirling in that room. An emotional storm front was building. I glided toward them slowly. Saunders reached out his hand and gently, feather light, he brushed a stray hair back from Wendy’s face. In that touch all his sadness broke loose and formed the words he spoke to her. “I’d give anything in the world to be able to do that to one of my girls. I have a hole in me so big you wouldn’t believe, and it just drips blood all the time.” His hand fell back to his side and with it the emotional tide crested and receded.

  He looked over at me and said, “I’ll think about your offer. I need to be alone just now.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  Wendy smiled wanly at him, touched his arm once, and then went out the door. Saunders closed it behind us, and we went down the stairs back to the car.

  Chapter 21

  Sitting in the car, Wendy asked what we were going to do next.

  “We wait is what we do next. He wants to be alone now, fine. But he still hasn’t changed his plans. So we wait and we watch. This is the exciting stuff the TV detectives do while the commercials are on.”

  I turned and faced Wendy. “By the way, you were really helpful up there. Thanks.”

  “I didn’t mean to be. I was just telling him how I felt. I meant it.”

  “I’m sure you did. I just meant that my approach to Saunders wasn’t getting us anywhere. What you said unlocked a piece of him I couldn’t reach and got us closer to his going home than I thought possible.”

  “If it was helpful then I’m glad.”

  Twenty minutes passed before Saunders came down the stairs. At the foot he stopped and looked around, presumably for our car. I got out. Seeing me he walked straight over.

  “Haggerty, I’ve decided to go home. You’re right. Maggie needs to be my first concern. I called, but there’s no more flights back today. I’ll return my rented car tomorrow and catch the afternoon flight back to National.”

  “She’ll be glad to know you’re okay. Have you spoken to her yet?”

  “No. She’s apparently still out. I’ll try again later.

  “Look, I was going to get something to eat down at one of the waterfront restaurants. Would you care to come along? Frankly I could use the company.” The last line was directed through the car window at Wendy, seated inside.

  I looked in at her. She said, “Sure.”

  She got out, and I locked the car. We walked back to the waterfront. I thought us three very weary musketeers. All for one, perhaps, but which one?

  All the restaurants were the same. Just as I’d fished up and down the Atlantic Coast, I’d eaten in restaurants like these from Melbourne to Brielle. They were always large bare rooms without style. They existed only as permanently affixed weatherproofed seatings on the ocean’s front. The first tables filled were always those right by the floor-to-ceiling wall of glass that ran the entire width of the building. The later you arrived the further back you sat. Your dinner would still have been in the water at noon and that was all to the good. By and large, the cooking was undistinguished. Not bad enough to ruin the fish, but not skilled enough to enhance what the mere freshness of the fish brought to the dish. Portions would be large and the prices low. That fact somehow always added to the quality of the meal. The waitresses were almost always high school girls who were friendly and inefficient.

  We were too tired to comparison shop and went into the first one we came to. We were early enough to get a window seating. Our waitress—Tammy, her tag said—left us a bowl of hush puppies, a pitcher of ice water, and three menus. Eventually she found her way back to us and took our orders.

  There were too many areas of private pain for conversation to roam freely. Saunders found out that Wendy wasn’t my girl friend or secretary, but not how we had come to be together. We talked about the Olympics, the boycott, the upcoming track and field trials, and Wendy’s hopes for making the team.

  Saunders asked her how she got into throwing the javelin.

  “Well, when I was growing up, I played other things. I was always big for my age so I tried basketball and volleyball, and swimming, but I was never very coordinated. So I didn’t do too well. I stopped playing them altogether after a while. They’re the kinds of games that if you’re going to be any good at you have to start early so the skills become second nature to you. Well, I finally got coordinated in high school, but by then it was too late to learn to play those games from scratch.

  “I had a boyfriend who threw the shot on the track team so I would go to watch him at practice. I picked up a javelin one day, just fooling around, and he showed me how to throw it. The girls’ coach saw me and said I was good enough to make the team. I didn’t know she didn’t have any javelin throwers at all.” Wendy’s exuberant laugh brought smiles all around. For a moment it was possible to believe in a world without rape and murder. “Anyway, I turned out to be pretty good, and it was something I wasn’t behind in. Nobody else had been throwing javelins in grade school. At least not in America. In Finland I think they put them in the cradles, but what the heck. I just enjoy throwing the thing. The way it makes me feel: for once it’s good to be big and strong. Anyway, that’s enough about me. Did either of you play anything?” Wendy was blushing ever so slightly.

  Saunders said no and I just didn’t answer. My attention was on the big man in the cap and sunglasses eating by himself at a table next to the wall. He stared at us too often for chance. Hungerford said Bubba Bascomb would be hard to miss. This guy had good size on him, but sitting down it was hard to tell it he was the giant I was expecting to see. He had soft, pouty lips and a flat nose. His
overalls were shapeless, and he was trying his best to fill them with two platters of seafood and a pitcher of beer. All of this was inconclusive. I relaxed when a short, round woman and two equally rotund children came to the table, kissed him on the cheek, and sat down with him. He must have just been having an appetizer.

  I looked back and saw Wendy scowling at me. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. I thought I saw someone staring at us.” That got both Saunders’ and Wendy’s attention. “It wasn’t anyone we’re looking for. You can relax.” They each scanned the room. The spell was broken though, and the grim reasons we were all together had come back to the foreground.

  “Let’s get the check and leave.” I flagged our waitress down and got the check from her. As we wove our way through the incoming crowd, Wendy said she had to go to the bathroom. I asked her to wait until I could stay outside the door. Saunders said he wanted to try and call his wife. Just to let her know he was coming home. I stood in line at the cashier and watched him go off toward the phone booth in the corner. He put in his change, dialed, and then stood there waiting for a connection. He turned around abruptly, and seemed to be looking at two couples seated nearby.

  I paid the bill and walked Wendy to the ladies room. As we passed the phone booth I looked over at the table that had drawn Saunders’ attention. Neither man matched Randolph’s description, but one of the women was the day shift police dispatcher. When I looked back Saunders was speaking animatedly into the phone. He blew a kiss into the receiver and hung up. Wendy came out of the bathroom, and we all left together.

  We walked slowly back to the motel. Saunders said, “I think I’ll turn in early. I’ve got to pack up. I’ve decided to drive back rather than wait for the plane. If I get up early I can be back home by early afternoon.”

  “Sounds good to me. Think about what I said. If you want, I’ll look for Randolph down here for you. Talk it over with your wife. I’ve got to be down here anyway.” I gave Saunders one of my cards. On the back, I scrawled the phone number at Wendy’s house.

  “Listen, I want to thank you. You were right. It’s over. I need to be back with Maggie. Start over. She said to thank you too for finding me and getting me to come home.” We shook hands on that.

  “Sure. Have a safe trip back.” I guided Wendy to the car and watched Saunders mount the steps to his room.

  Chapter 22

  I got in the car and after another antibomb inspection, started the engine.

  “We’ve got some shopping to do,” I said.

  “What?”

  “We’ve got some things to pick up for the night shift.”

  “What night shift?”

  “The one we’re about to begin. You’ve just enrolled in detective school. Tonight’s course is Surveillance 101.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if Saunders is going home tomorrow, I’m the tooth fairy. I don’t know where he’s going, but I expect him to stay put for a few minutes to make sure we’re gone. That’s why we’re going shopping now. To be back in place before Saunders goes anywhere.”

  We went around the block, and I pulled up in front of a convenience store. Wendy said it was okay to leave her in the car. I left the motor on when I got out and told Wendy to get behind the wheel. If anyone approached the car she was to sit on the horn. If that didn’t deter them, she should run them over. I got what we needed in less than five minutes and carried the bag back to the car. I handed it through the window to Wendy and then went to make two phone calls. Nothing that I learned surprised me.

  I got back in the car and had Wendy drive us to a spot where we could watch Saunders’ motel room.

  “Well, what have we got here?” She opened the bag and took out six large coffees, a $6.99 thermos, a quart jar of apple juice, three sports magazines, and half dozen comic books.

  “Pour the coffees into the thermos, Watson.” As she did, I opened the door and poured the apple juice out on the ground.

  “Why’d you do that?” she asked.

  “Because what we need is an empty container, not the apple juice. I leave the reason for that to your imagination.”

  She frowned for a moment and then laughed.

  “Right, Watson. The coffee is to keep us alert. The reading material is to keep us from going bananas. I assumed the magazines would interest you. My apologies if I chose poorly. Don’t laugh at the comics. They keep my brain on without being engaged. An interesting book is either wasted or a distraction. These are perfect. If I forget where I am I can always start over without the ‘artistic merits’ being lost, and they aren’t so gripping that I’ll forget why I’m really out here in the dark.” I handed her the magazines and shoved the comics up on the dashboard. The thermos I put on the floor between us along with the empty jar.

  “Make yourself comfortable. We can talk. You can read. Sleep if you can. I’ll ask you to spell me after midnight. If you feel like you’re fading, wake me right away. Have you got all this? There’s going to be a quiz in the morning.”

  “Sure. No sweat.”

  “Fine. If the police pull up and ask us what we’re doing here, we’re having a fight about getting married. I’m having cold feet because you want six kids. Okay?”

  “No way. I want to back out because you want six kids.”

  “Okay. They’ll come around for another sweep probably a couple of hours later. Keep an eye out in the mirror for them. As they pull up, let’s embrace like we’re making up. They love happy endings and will probably pass us by.”

  “Okay, Sherlock.”

  “Last thing: any car that goes by real slowly or more than once or pulls up and parks and no one gets out is trouble. Wake me right away. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Okay. That’s the fine points of surveillance.”

  “Except for one thing. How’d you know Saunders isn’t going home?”

  “Two things. First, he was just too accommodating. Too willing to just pack up and go home. He didn’t say good-bye to you. You got to that man. If he was really calling it quits and leaving, he’d have said good-bye to you. No. It was all a show. Plus I’m a naturally suspicious guy. So I called the hospital. No one’s called Mrs. Saunders since this afternoon. She’s still sedated. That was all a show for us in the restaurant. Secondly, he was real interested in a conversation that the police dispatcher was having at her table while he was on the phone. I called the police. They wouldn’t tell me anything, and Hungerford was out of the office. But I’ll bet you dollars to donuts Saunders heard something about Randolph. So we sit and wait. If I’m wrong we can wave bye-bye when he drives off to go home. If I’m right, he may lead us to Randolph.”

  That night passed like most of them do on surveillance. The silence, darkness, and stillness are a blessed relief at first, especially if you’ve been busting your chops trying to keep someone in sight all day and remain invisible yourself. You start to relax and unwind. I wished we’d gone back and gotten my car. I spent a fortune putting a custom contoured reclining bucket seat in my car just for times like these. Once you’ve relaxed, the lack of action begins to be irritating. You ask “why am I here? I should be home sleeping.” Custom seat or no, it’s not comfortable. You swear you’ll up your rates for this crap. The person you’re watching is either sleeping better or having more fun than you are. You can’t sleep but you’re tired, so about then you insert the IV drip of caffeine. More nothing happens. You’re bored stupid, tired, uncomfortable, downright cranky. You fire yourself from the case. The minutes go by so slowly you swear you’re watching isolated replays of sloths on parade.

  When I was younger, about this time I’d start to sing to myself, tap the steering wheel, look for someone to kill. My partner, Arnie, taught me how to go into a light trance, a hypnoid state of consciousness. Unfocused but easily alerted. So at 3 A.M., I began to imagine my arms and legs were lying off the ends of a soft float, dangling in warm moving water. I slowed my breathing and heart rate. I imagined a stream of water
washing through my mind, cleansing me, taking away the grit, the sediment, all thought passing out my fingertips to the sea I imagined I was in.

  I looked over at Wendy. After reading her magazine, we had talked for a while. We created fantasy biographies. I was the illegitimate son of Robert Mitchum and Katharine Hepburn. Like most twenty-year-olds, she couldn’t imagine a past longer than two weeks ago. I told her she was the whispered-about legendary child of Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe.

  She dug a Walkman out from the glove compartment, plugged herself in, and mercifully fell asleep. In my waking dream state she was lovely. She turned sideways with her legs curled up. Her head lay against the seat back with her hands for a pillow. I watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. She slept without incident. I was glad for her.

  I watched the night sky absorb the rays of the coming sun until daybreak. First, light leaked and then streamed through the saturated sky. As the giant orange ball burned off the cloud cover, Herb Saunders came down the motel stairs. He stopped and looked carefully both ways before crossing. Then he walked quickly down the street away from us. He was carrying a black bag.

  Chapter 23

  Tony Magliotti was missing. He hadn’t come home from school. His parents called everywhere. No one had any ideas. Tony was a good boy. He always went straight home. They called his friends, the Bible class teacher, the hospital. Nothing. Finally they had come to see their priest. Waiting for them he felt formless, leaden.

  His assistant told him they had arrived. He couldn’t get up to take a step. He was paralyzed. They’ll just have to go home, he thought. He’d have Cecilia tell them. Slowly his resolve reasserted itself. My mind is just running away with me. I’ll put my hands on my knees and up we go. Simple. Now one foot in front of the other. See, walking. Open the door. Our father who art in heaven …

  They were in his study. “Mr. and Mrs. Magliotti. Please sit down. How can I help you in this terrible time?” He already knew the answer. He could tell them who had their child and why.